Chapter Thirteen
Gwendraith Castle
She was short and pretty, with dark brown hair.
And she was pelting him with snowballs.
Visions of a castle he didn’t know, and those same people whose names he couldn’t remember, were in his dreams again.
There was a pretty little girl with long hair crying about snow in her ear, and then there was a one-eyed man hugging him.
He’d seen that man in his dreams many times, but he had no idea who he was.
All he knew was that he loved him, but he’d stopped trying long ago to remember the man’s name.
He never could.
And then he was getting amorous with the girl with the dark brown hair.
He could feel her soft skin in his hands, and he had feelings for her.
He wasn’t sure if it was lust or love or something else, but that girl brought about arousal in him and the intense feeling of attraction.
He’d dreamed about her before, too. And in his dreams, she was something special to him.
In truth, she had been his only experience with a woman that he could recall, a dream lover who had captured his attention.
But the dreams with his dream lover in them turned into something else.
This often happened, too – his dreams would be those of nameless people he loved and then it would shift to a battle.
Or, sometimes it was just the battle and nothing more.
He could hear men screaming and fighting over his head as he lay on the ground. Fighting and more fighting.
Atty!
Scott!
Names that meant nothing to him, but he felt like they should.
In his dream, he could taste fear but he couldn’t move.
Someone was trying to pick him up off the ground, but he fell away.
He was conscious, hearing everything, but he couldn’t move.
He couldn’t speak. But he had the greatest sense of loneliness he’d ever known, and as his dream faded into mist, all he could feel was a profound sense of loss.
It left him feeling hollow and shattered, with a pain in his heart that he couldn’t describe. All he knew was that he felt… lost.
And then he awoke.
His heart was pounding, and he was sitting up in bed.
Blayth didn’t even remember sitting up, but he was.
There was sweat on his brow and he wiped at his face, trying to settle down.
God, he hated these dreams. He had them frequently.
It seemed that when he went to sleep, he entered another world, all his own.
He spent his days in the real world and the nights in a world of people he didn’t know and fearsome battles that left him breathless.
He really hated that dream world, because it left him feeling sad and worn.
Blayth knew he couldn’t go back to sleep again.
That was the curse of his vivid dreams. If he did, he’d fall right back into the same dream and wake up in a panic again.
Therefore, he endeavored to remain awake.
It was probably only an hour or two before dawn, anyway.
There was no reason to return to sleep and suffer through another battle and more panic, or try to remember people he didn’t know.
His chamber was just off the entry of Gwendraith’s keep. It had been a guard room when they first took over the castle, but he transformed it into his bed chamber. That way, he was the first to hear of anything from the outer ward and the first man out of the keep if need be.
Climbing out of bed, he lit the taper on the bedside table.
Before pulling on his leather breeches and long tunic, he headed to the basin to splash some water on his face and hair.
Hair wet, he raked it back over his lumpy skull, or at least the left side of it was lumpy from the damage.
There was a small piece of broken mirror that had been left behind at Gwendraith and he picked it up, gazing at his reflection.
Sometimes, he would stare at himself and wonder just who he really was.
Morys called him Blayth, and although he’d gone along with Morys’ explanation about his past, he wondered quite often if that was really true.
Something told him that all of those people he didn’t recognize in his dreams and the woman with the dark brown hair were all part of his past and had nothing to do with being a captive and tortured by the English.
Something told him that his past was filled with better things than that.
The keep was quiet at this hour. He was awake, but he didn’t want to go about his duties yet.
It was rare when he had moments of quiet like this, to relax and ponder his thoughts.
Against the wall, and piled with his possessions, was a variation on a citole, a stringed musical instrument that he’d been given.
For some reason, Blayth’s ability to sing and play an instrument had never left him, and it was something he enjoyed doing from time to time.
He could remember so many songs and sing them quite ably.
Picking up the instrument, which he hadn’t played in a long while, he took it with him as he headed out to the hall.
Men were sleeping on the fringes of the great hall, along with packs of scruffy-looking dogs, but Blayth didn’t pay any attention to them.
His chamber was rather cramped and close, and he didn’t feel like spending any amount of time there, so he’d come out to the hall where the fire was dying and men were snoring.
Sitting down at the old feasting table, he kicked back his legs and leaned against the tabletop as he began to pick at the strings of the citole. A haunting melody came to mind and he quietly began to sing.
Come roam with me, my love,
Come roam far with me,
Away from this hard world,
And love only me.
His voice was rousing a few of the men, who began stirring in their sleep. He plucked a few more chords before starting the second verse.
They said that you loved me,
They said that you cared.
They said that your strong heart,
Wasn’t mine to be shared.
More men stirred, coughing as they began to awaken to the sound of Blayth’s beautiful baritone singing voice.
He didn’t care a lick that he had awakened them, so he continued to sit there and hum the song, thinking of the coming day.
He had great hopes of seeing Asmara and, perhaps, even taking that trip into Carmarthen that had been put off after the arrival of her father.
Even though there had been no great argument between Morys and Cader the day before, it was clear that not all was well between them. Cader wanted information from Morys’ meeting with Howell, but Morys told him very little other than the coming planned meeting at Carmarthen Castle next month.
Frustrated, Cader finally left Gwendraith in the late afternoon, heading to Carmarthen Castle to ask Howell personally what had been discussed between him and Morys, a move that utterly angered Morys.
He liked to feel special, as if he was the only one privy to such inside information, but Cader wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
He was part of this rebellion, too, and risking his men just as Morys was risking his.
Therefore, he’d stormed off before sunset for the short ride to Carmarthen.
But Asmara had remained.
Blayth’s thoughts turned to the elegant creature everyone called the Dragon Princess.
To him, she was becoming so much more than that.
Their kiss yesterday had been an event that had changed something within him.
He couldn’t believe she wasn’t repulsed by his big, scarred body, or his slow and sometimes hesitant speech. She had called him handsome.
No one had ever called him that before.
She hadn’t objected to his kiss, either. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. He knew that he certainly did. She was the first kiss he’d ever had outside of his dream lover, but nothing with his dream lover had ever been so satisfying.
He knew he had to kiss Asmara again.
Kiss her and more. He’d never been one to think of marriage, but when he looked at Asmara, he was starting to think of such things.
He couldn’t imagine not spending his life with her by his side, that strong and beautiful woman.
She had endeared herself deeply to his damaged, confused soul, so much so that he knew he never wanted to be without her.
Odd thoughts for the usually solitary man.
Sitting back against the tabletop, he continued to strum his citole and think of Asmara ferch Cader.
The hall was stirring around him, with men starting to rise for the day thanks to Blayth’s music.
There were even a few grumbles and dirty looks in his direction.
But he didn’t care, lost in a world of Asmara, and wondering what she looked like under the baggy clothing she wore.
As he continued to strum and think on golden-eyed beauties, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye at the hall entry and looked over just in time to see Asmara passing by the entry, heading out of the keep.
He was on his feet in an instant.
Quickly, he made his way back to his chamber to drop off the citole before leaving the keep, following Asmara’s path.
It was quite early for her to be awake, with the eastern horizon just starting to lighten.
There was a heavy dew in the air and the grass was wet, and his breath hung in the air in puffs of mist as Blayth continued to follow the woman from the inner ward and into the outer ward beyond.
He could see that she was heading for the stable, no doubt to check on her horse with the wounded hoof.
Blayth continued to follow her at a distance.
He was thinking of their kiss, of the day that followed, including sup that night where they’d sat in relative silence because Morys was upset about Cader, and Asmara didn’t want to draw the man’s ire.